


Same Ghost Every Night

by jouissant



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil was still holding the trophy. He was holding the trophy and Carlos was dead. He’d been holding the trophy for three days now. He felt like he needed to do it, like Carlos needed him to do it, because Carlos--well, if it were up to Cecil, Carlos would be lying in state at City Hall, or in the vacant lot out back of the Ralph’s, on a litter strewn with desert poppies and/or wolfsbane. </p><p>Or, Carlos didn't make it out of the underground city alive, so Cecil takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Ghost Every Night

Cecil was still holding the trophy. He was holding the trophy and Carlos was dead. He’d been holding the trophy for three days now. He felt like he needed to do it, like Carlos needed him to do it, because Carlos--well, if it were up to Cecil Carlos would be lying in state at City Hall, or in the vacant lot out back of the Ralph’s, on a litter strewn with desert poppies and/or wolfsbane. But since it wasn’t up to Cecil, his body was gone. Gone off somewhere east of Night Vale. Or north, or west, or south; Cecil wasn't sure. And how was it that he didn’t know from whence Carlos came? Surely it was a veritable utopia of mahogany locks and crisp white labcoats. Or no, more likely Carlos was a singular specimen, fused and formed and shaken loose from his undeserving hometown like a diamond from a coal mine. 

So yes, Carlos’ flimsy meat shell may have been gone from Night Vale. But if Cecil was lucky, his eternal soul was still kicking around. He couldn’t be sure, but he had a hunch. Because the thing was...Carlos was just so _smart_ , and so inquisitive about Night Vale. Cecil couldn’t imagine he’d be overly enthused about just up and leaving, gory death at the hands of miniature warmongers notwithstanding. And there were all those experiments set up at the lab, all those tests he was running that Cecil definitely did not jimmy the lock to slip in and visit, to wander between the benches and run his fingers over each smooth test tube and Erlenmeyer flask. 

Cecil was resourceful, was all. He was resourceful, so he knew that squirreling away the bodily detritus of the object of one’s affection was just good sense. You never knew when your sweetheart might up and get hit by a bus, or subsumed by the Glow Cloud, or vanish into the restroom at Arby’s. Or die a horrible death at the hands of a tiny but fierce army, despite the valiant efforts of the Apache Tracker (who was just...ugh, just so gross. How could he have been the last to lay his hands on Carlos’ vibrant form? Was he thinking appropriative thoughts about Native American “healing rituals” as he tried to stanch the bleeding? He probably was, wasn’t he. Damn him and his heartrending, confusing bravery!) Anyway, the point was, life was dangerous. Life in Night Vale was substantially more so, at least according to Carlos’ preliminary statistical analyses. So if Cecil plucked a single fallen strand of that sublime hair from Carlos’ shoulder in a perfectly normal gesture, and if he then placed that hair in his bloodstone circle and murmured incantations over it every morning during Circle Time in _another_ perfectly normal gesture, it was merely intended as a form of...insurance. And so now, back in the bloodstone circle under the light of the full moon, clutching a very disgruntled barn swallow and one of Carlos’ best beakers half-full of Cecil’s own blood, wasn’t he just...collecting on his policy?

“Look,” Cecil said to the bird. “I’m sorry, really I am. But you know the rules as well as I do, and _someone’s_ got to go and get him. And I’d really rather it wasn’t me, though I suppose that could be arranged. If we had to.” 

The swallow cheeped at him. Cecil sighed. He’d never had much of a stomach for animal sacrifice. He suspected it had greatly disappointed his mother, once upon a time. “No,” Cecil said, sighing heavily again. “You owe me a favor, and I’m calling it in. That’s just...the way it is.” 

The swallow’s winged shoulders slumped minutely. 

“So, we’re square?” 

The swallow chirped. 

“Okay,” Cecil said. “Here goes.” He set the trophy on the ground at his feet, and wiped his hands on his corduroys.

After it was over, Cecil leaned down and puked neatly into the weeds. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” said the swallow. Or a pale, luminescent facsimile of the swallow, to be more precise. 

Cecil gaped. “You...you can talk?” 

“Yeah, I guess that’s a thing that happens,” the swallow said, waving a ghostly wing. “So, look, let’s get down to business. I’ve got an eternity’s worth of bugs to gorge on, and I’m going to build a sweet-ass mud nest.” 

Cecil nodded solemnly. “Understood,” he said. He held up Carlos’ hair between thumb and forefinger, and eased it carefully into the beaker. Clamping his hand over the opening, he shook it like a cocktail. Then he fished the hair back out and offered it to the swallow. 

“Gross,” the swallow said, but took it in its beak anyway. “I’ll be back,” it said, beak clenched. Then it flew off to the west, a milky smudge that rose and rose and vanished. 

Cecil wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Cecil,” he said aloud. Silent as the proverbial grave, the bloodstone circle offered no counsel. 

It seemed to Cecil that he sat for a very long time. He supposed it was nothing compared to where Carlos was, or where Intern Dana might be, adrift in limbo at the dog park, but it felt long anyway. So when it happened, it happened not with a bang, but with a whimper. The whimper might just have been a beloved family pet or toddler being exsanguinated by a Hooded Figure, though; they sounded pretty similar. But finally, _finally_ , out over the sand wastes the air began to shimmer and solidify. In the space of several seconds, several (interminable!) blinks of his jaundiced eye, Cecil was looking upon the perfect form of Carlos once more. 

He looked kind of pissed off. 

He was wearing his regular lab coat, the formal one, and underneath it a pair of rather tight, slim-fitting jeans and a T-shirt. The clothes he was wearing when he died, Cecil thought miserably. Carlos was holding a red plastic Solo cup. He took a sip. 

“Cecil?” he asked. “What are you doing here?” 

“Are you...what are you drinking?” Cecil asked. _‘What are you drinking?’ That’s almost worse than ‘neat’. Get it together, Baldwin._

“Um. Beer?” 

Cecil stepped closer. “Fascinating,” he said. “So there’s beer...wherever you’ve been?” 

Carlos shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s, like, a regular thing,” he said. “They had a get-together for some of the new...residents, I guess you could say.” 

“Oh,” Cecil said. “So...you got my message?” 

“If by ‘message’ you mean grouchy dead bird that took a shit on my shoulder and said ‘Cecil wants to talk to you’, then yes,” Carlos said. 

“I was hoping this would go differently,” Cecil muttered. 

“Cecil?” Carlos stepped closer, and oh, even like this he was still entrancing, his dark eyes silvery in the moonlight, his hair--

“Your hair,” Cecil said. “It--it grew back!” 

Carlos lifted a hand absently and patted the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess it did,” he said. “Huh. I thought he went a little overboard on that cut,” he said. 

“ _Telly_ ,” muttered Cecil. One well-timed phone call to the SSP hotline, one whispered “something”, and--but no. Cecil was trying to be more zen about these things, in the wake of recent events. Besides, Carlos--CARLOS!-- stood before him, back from beyond the grave, hair miraculously intact. Surely there were more important things to worry about. 

Carlos ran a hand through his hair contemplatively. “Well, listen, Cecil...it looks like I’m going to be here--well, there--for awhile, so I should probably get back, try to make some friends.” He held up the cup by way of explanation.

Cecil’s heart sank. “Of course,” he said, defeated. “I wouldn’t want you to miss your party.” 

Carlos stared at him for a long time. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something, but then he gave a little half-shake of his head--and oh, how his hair caught the moonlight!--and began to turn away. Something about the sight of that, of poor dead Carlos about to step alone into the sand wastes, on his way back to who knew where...it seized Cecil about the throat with renewed determination. He took a step forward. 

“W--wait,” he croaked. 

Carlos stopped. 

“Wait,” Cecil said again. “Please. If you could just...if you could stay here a little while longer. With me, I mean. I’d...I’d like that.” 

Carlos froze. 

When he turned around, he was smiling. And it wasn’t the grimacing rictus of a corpse at all, but a real smile. It was small and soft and it shook Cecil all the way to his toes, the way one of Carlos’ undetectable earthquakes probably would, if you could detect it. 

“I...sure,” Carlos said. “I can stay, for a little while.” 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Cecil asked. 

They decided to walk to Mission Grove Park. It was kind of a hike from the sand wastes, but Cecil didn’t mind. It was a privilege, really, just to be in the company of Carlos. Carlos, who sort of float-walked along next to him, hands in his pockets. Do you even have things in your pockets, when you’re dead? Cecil wondered. He thought it might be a little forward to come right out and ask. 

“So,” Carlos said. 

“So,” said Cecil. 

“Do you have any questions, or anything?” Carlos asked.

“Questions? Questions about what?” 

Carlos snorted. “Come on, man. You...you brought me back from the dead, didn’t you? It wasn’t just to...to gaze once more upon my perfect visage, or whatever. You must have questions.” 

Cecil blanched. Luckily, it was difficult to tell in the moonlight. He swallowed. “Um, I guess so,” he said haltingly. “Did it hurt?” 

Carlos winced. 

“I’m sorry,” Cecil said. “That just came out.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Carlos said. “You know, it’s kind of funny,” he said. “Their weapons were so tiny, I didn’t really notice what had happened until it was too late. It tickled, more than anything. And then there was just...a lot of blood.” He shook his head incredulously.

“I’m so sorry,” Cecil said suddenly. 

“It’s not your fault,” Carlos said. “And hey, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Death and taxes, right?” He shrugged, giving Cecil a sad, wry smile. 

The Brownstone Spire did Cecil’s taxes, so he wasn’t really sure what Carlos was getting at. 

“I mean, I’m sorry you came to Night Vale,” Cecil said. “Well, not sorry about that, exactly, but...I’m sorry you came to Night Vale and died because of it. I’m sorry you had to die in the arms of the Apache Tracker.” He shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

“Yeah, that guy’s pretty messed up,” Carlos said. “But hey, it was my choice, Cecil. I wanted to go in, find out what was going on. I was...I _am_ a scientist.” 

“I know, I know,” Cecil said miserably. “It’s just...it should have been me,” Cecil said. “I should have been there, not just listening to it on the radio, being useless.”

Carlos stepped closer. They were halfway to the park, standing in the middle of the street. It was a warm night, and all manner of objectionable creatures might be abroad, but Cecil didn’t care. Because Carlos was stepping closer still. “I thought about you,” he said quietly. 

“You...what?” 

“When I went into the underground city, and...and after. I thought about you reporting it, reading the news on your show. I wondered how you’d feel, if you’d...miss me.” He looked away, into the gloom at the end of the street. “When he pulled me out, I thought for a second that it was going to be okay, that I was going to get to see you again.”

“Oh,” Cecil said. “Oh, Carlos.” He ran a hand over his face, rummaging in his pocket and drawing out a previously forgotten sheet of notebook paper, folded and refolded origami-tight. 

“What’s that?” Carlos asked. 

“It’s your eulogy,” Cecil said. “I was going to read it next time I went on air. I’ve--I’ve been off, the last couple days. I let Intern Antonio take over the day after you died, and then yesterday and today we synced up with WZZZ.” 

“Isn’t that just a numbers station? What about the news?” 

Cecil shrugged. If he was being honest, he couldn’t much see the point in reporting news to a Night Vale without Carlos in it. He supposed he’d get over it, eventually. Probably. 

“So...what does the eulogy say?” Carlos asked. 

Cecil’s face felt hot. It wasn’t everyday you actually got to read someone their eulogy. Well, there was that time Claudia Lopez walked out of her own funeral, sitting up in her coffin and screaming that it was all lies, and why wouldn’t her cheap fucker of a husband at least spring for the midlevel casket. But she’d just been paralyzed, not actually dead. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” Cecil asked. Carlos nodded. 

Cecil sighed. “Okay,” he said. He cleared his throat and looked up at Carlos. He was a little transparent around the edges, a little glowy. But if Cecil ignored that, it was as if he was speaking to the Carlos of a week ago, a month ago, a year ago. 

“Dear listeners,” Cecil read. “By now you have almost certainly learned of the incident that occurred last night at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. While we are no stranger to...well, to the _strange_ here in Night Vale, it’s not every day that the quotidian horrors we endure in the course of our existence strike so keenly at the heart of Night Vale Community Radio, or of this broadcaster in particular. Listeners, today, we here at the station grieve the loss of...of an exemplary man. And today, I wish to speak to you about him. I wish to speak to you of Carlos.” 

Here, Cecil’s voice caught, but he continued. He could not--would not--meet Carlos’ eyes, not yet. 

“Carlos came to Night Vale almost exactly one year ago. I remember that day because it was the day the dog park opened, and I think we can all agree that that was a turning point of sorts for all of us. I had so many questions, listeners. Who was this mysterious and dashing scientist? What were his motives? How would his presence alter the fabric of our lives? I could not know it then, listeners, but in my case, the answer was ‘inexorably’. Carlos was a man of many talents. He grew a lustrous thicket of hair that pains me even now with the memory of its perfection. But more than that, he did...he did amazing science. I can’t pretend to understand everything Carlos got up to in that lab of his, but let me tell you, Night Vale, it was our very own cabinet of curiosities conveniently located next door to Rico’s Pizza. So, listeners,” Cecil said, “If you’ll join me now in a moment of silence for Carlos, our scientist. My scientist. Thank you, and good night.” 

He looked up. “So that’s it,” he said. “That’s the eulogy.” 

“Cecil,” Carlos said, “It was beautiful.” 

“Well, it was the truth,” Cecil said. He traced a line on the asphalt with the toe of his sneaker.

Carlos sighed. “I was going to call you,” he said sadly. “I remember thinking it, right before those little bastards nailed me. I was going to call you for...for personal reasons.” 

Cecil clapped a hand over his heart. The unfairness of it all--well, it just didn’t bear thinking about too hard. “You were?” 

Carlos nodded. “I was going to take you to--what’s that Italian place everyone goes so crazy over?” 

“Gino’s Italian Dining Experience? Carlos, can you afford that on a scientist’s salary?” 

“I was going to charge it,” Carlos said. 

“Kiss me,” said Cecil, and Carlos did. 

Let it not be said that Cecil Baldwin was inexperienced in the bedroom, because that was certainly not the case. It was actually pretty surprising he’d never kissed a ghost before. He supposed that it was somehow right that if it was going to happen, it was with Carlos. It felt kind of cold and shivery, a crisp peppermint patty of a kiss, and when they broke apart Cecil could see his breath on the warm night air. 

“Wow,” said Carlos. 

“I know, right?” said Cecil. 

“Well, that’s a pisser,” Carlos said. 

“I know!” said Cecil. “Why do you have to be dead, again? Can’t you make some kind of creepy bargain with someone? Ooh, I know, I’ll trade my soul for yours! I don’t really need it, it’s totally fine, I swear.” 

Carlos smiled sadly. “I was kind of...put out about the whole death thing, so I did some asking around. Loudly, and with fists. But no, no deals. Doesn’t work that way.” 

Cecil’s shoulders slumped. “So, that’s it? We’re just shit out of luck?” 

Carlos got that look on his face, the one that meant he was doing science in his head. “Maybe not,” he said. “Maybe I can swing some...vacation days, as it were. But you might have to give me some time to work on it from my end.” 

He looked at his watch. “I should be going.” To the east, the sky was lightening, and they hadn’t even made it to the park yet. They were just standing there in the middle of Old Musk Drive, probably looking pretty darn suspicious. It was a wonder no one had called the authorities. 

“Look,” Carlos said. “Will you do something for me?” 

“Anything,” Cecil said. 

“Stay on the radio,” Carlos said. “Keep doing the show. I know I was only here a year, and it’s nowhere near being a local, but...I think Night Vale needs you, Cecil.” Carlos looked over his shoulder and winced at the pallid smear of dawn. He smiled, and it was like Halloween and birthdays all rolled into one, and despite the ache in his chest Cecil couldn’t help smiling back. 

“See you later, Cecil,” said Carlos. He leaned in and kissed Cecil softly, and when Cecil opened his eyes again, he was gone. Cecil’s lips tingled, and he raised a hand to his mouth to feel.

***

_And now, the news. Word on the street is that the abandoned science lab next to Rico’s Pizza is even more haunted than usual these days. Witnesses report a tall, faintly glowing figure in a white coat hovering in the vicinity of the building, and strange and terrible noises emanating from within. However, authorities report that all is well! The Sheriff’s Secret Police definitely don’t want to field your calls about the abandoned science lab or anyone inside, spectral or otherwise. Additionally, citizens are advised to note that if the lab’s a rockin’, they should under no circumstances go a-knockin’._

_In a related story, Rico’s Pizza reports overwhelming demand for their newest pizza, The Carlos. I like mine with extra mealworms. Nobody does a slice like Big Rico, Night Vale. Nobody._


End file.
